


Broken

by thenotsofantasticlifestory



Category: One Piece
Genre: Comfort, Gen, Phantom pain, Recovery, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:15:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23046139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenotsofantasticlifestory/pseuds/thenotsofantasticlifestory
Summary: The aftermath of their battle with Red Hair Shanks leaves Kid and Killer in a bad way.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Broken

It had been three days since their fight with Red Haired Shanks, and three days Kid had refused to leave his cabin. Under threat of violence, anyone who tried to check on him was met with cursing and flying chunks of metal. Killer was the only one who managed to go and stay in one piece. The doctor had tended to the others on the ship (those that had survived) but Killer alone went to change Kid’s bandages each day. He’d bring food, and do his work, Kid was always silent, never making eye contact and speaking only in the occasional grunt. Killer wouldn’t try to prompt him, just leave the food, take the old tray with him, and head to the doctor to change the wrappings on his own ruined arm.

Killer didn’t like this. The simple luxury with Kid was that you never had to guess what he was feeling, it was always more than apparent. He had always been open to his emotions, his anger was loud, his happiness louder, even his sadness was never held back. But seeing him now, this silent empty version of Kid, as though someone had scooped out his essence and left the hollow husk behind. 

This was not the Kid he knew.

This was not the Kid he followed unquestioningly into battle. This bottled up wreck of a man that sat in his bed with a dead look in his eye, this was worse. A broken toy left alive only at the good whim of a Yonko. So, Killer kept close by at all times, waiting for the inevitable break (because he would, Killer knew that).  


So, for the fourth night in a row, he stood guard outside of Kid’s cabin. The silence of the past few days at any other time would have been a welcome reprieve, but now it only raised his anxiety. A muffled curse and some shifting from inside brought him to the door, listening for a moment longer before entering.  


Kid had ripped off the bandages from his shoulder, fingers scratching at the still healing mess of nerves and skin, his nails brought forward small specks of blood.  


“It just doesn’t fucking _stop,_ ” he snarled. It was the first thing Kid had actually said since the fight.  


Killer took a chair by the bed, “What?”  


Kid ran an angry hand through his hair, before slamming his fist against the mattress, “The fucking pain- it’s, _fuck_ \- it still feels like it’s there!”  


He motioned to grip at the stump his arm but Killer wrestled the hand away, “Kid stop, you’re gonna make it worse.”  


_Worse._  


It really couldn’t get worse than this could it? Not likely.  


The itching was the worst, ‘phantom pains’ he overheard the doctor say. He’d awoken again and again in the middle of the night to that shooting, tingling pain that ran through his arm, but when he moved to scratch at it, he was met only with the gaping void of where the rest of him should have been. He should have been used to it by now, but every goddamn time he was smacked again with that reminder that he was broken, not a whole man anymore. His hand would hover over the place where flesh and bone once were, if he closed his eyes, he swore he could practically feel it, but it was never there. Not anymore.  


It was the simple things that made him feel the worst, things he never thought about. Painting his nails, taking apart scrap, even changing his bandages; the most mundane activities he would perform without thought, and now needed help. Killer was always there, even with his own damaged arm in a sling, but at least he would heal. He would be whole still. And Kid hated him for that. He hated this vulnerability, having to be taken care of like a child because he simply couldn’t do those things anymore. And he knew it wasn’t fair to hate his friend for his luck, but it didn’t stop the feeling from bubbling up his throat.  


But the very worst was the broken image he held of himself now. The undefeatable, powerful Captain Eustass Kid was dead and gone, buried somewhere under the heel of Red-Haired Shanks. The confidence and courage he entered every fight with was torn down with this visible reminder of how _easily_ he could break. A constant reminder that he had been too weak when it counted and every scar unlined that point.  


Killer had gathered up the old wrappings, tossing them into the waste and retrieving a fresh roll from the bedside.  


“Let me wrap it up.”  


Kid sneered and turned away, leaving Killer to sigh in impatience.  


“Kid, come on.”  


“I can do it myself,” Kid said, motioning to take the wrappings from Killer.  


“No, you can’t.”  


Kid continued to wrestle for the bandages, elbowing and using the rest of his bulk to assault, “Yes, I can just-“  


“ _Kid,_ ” Killer reached out to grab at him.  


“Don’t fucking _touch me!_ ” he lashed out with his good arm, sending Killer sprawling back, toppling over his chair. A yelp of pain followed by low groaning as he cradled the burned flesh of his arm. Kid felt himself go limp, eyes wide.  


“Killer…” the blood drained from his face, horrified at his actions, “I-…I’m sorry…I didn’t mean-“  


Killer rose wordlessly, expressionless through his mask and righted the chair, resuming his place at the bedside. Adjusting his arm back into the sling, with a few twitches of discomfort, he returned to the task of Kid’s bandages. Kid didn’t fight back this time, keeping his stare into his lap as his fist white knuckled against the sheet. Silence stretched between them as Killer finished wrapping the stump of his captain’s arm.  


“I fucked up…” Kid finally said.  


Killer’s head rose, searching the newly scarred face of his friend, as Kid continued, “People are dead and it’s my fault. People who expected me to be strong enough to protect them and I fucked it up…  


“I- “Kid’s jaw tightens, swallowing down the unwanted emotion though his voice is thick with it, “I was too fucking stupid and I couldn’t even-…” His breathing picked up, hard and aggressive, hating how he sounded. Hating the hot prickle of tears that were blurring his vision.  


“Kid,” Killer said.  


Kid watched as Killer removed his helmet, fumbling with only one hand, and dropping it to the ground. His cheeks were already stained with tears and Kid felt something inside him break.  


“I failed you too,” Killer choked out, chewing at his lip but not wiping at the fresh tears that trickled down, “I couldn’t save you and we promised-“he choked suddenly, the weight of memory shaking him, “we said we’d always protect each other. And I’m- I’m so sorry Kid, I- “  


He’s silenced as Kid smothered him into his own body, one arm wrapping around and Killer returns the embrace. There’s discomfort and pain, between the ripped flesh and broken bones but neither loosened their grip. They’re not sure who broke first, but as soon as that shake of silent sobbing rocked one body the other followed. And they aren’t sure how long they stayed like that, locked against the other in the dead of night, but it’s what was needed, because they are broken and battered and not even whole, but they are alive. And for now, that’s enough.  


Eventually Kid lets go, rubbing at his face to erase any trace of his breakdown and chuckled, “Don’t fucking apologize, you look gross.”  


Killer actually chuckled too, “You started it…”  


Kid took the roll of bandages nodding to the arm in the sling, “Let me help with that.”  


With a bit of maneuvering, Killer got his arm out of the sling, letting Kid peel off the old bandages. Each strip exposed angry red skin, still poorly scabbing and Killer hissed at the sudden feeling of cold air on his sensitive flesh.  


Kid’s nose wrinkled, “That’s disgusting.”  


“Like you look any better,” Killer retorted.  


That tension and stress that the two had been holding in since the fight had begun to thaw, as they banter and chat while working at rewrapping Killer’s arm. Between Kid’s remaining limb, and Killer’s unhurt one, it’s an awkward task but things are finally falling in to sync again, the well-oiled machine they’d always been.  


“You know,” Killer said, “I bet you could make a pretty badass replacement arm anyway.”  


Kid stopped, his eyes going wide as the sudden realization hit him, and his face stretched into a wide grin, “Yeah…I could-…yeah.”  


Killer could already see the gears turning in his head a spark behind his eye; this was the Kid he knew, this crazy convoluted inventor that backed down for no one.  


“Quick, give me some paper and pencils,” he puts his hand out to Killer, who’s already grabbing sheets from the desk. As if in a trance, Kid is madly scribbling down diagrams and notes and the two work late into the night. By the time the sun begins to rise, they are passed out, dozens of sheets of drawings, some more serious than others, littering the room. And it’s a small start, to fix what has been broken.


End file.
